


With a Whimper

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 3 Coliver Codas [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Coda, Domestic, Episode Related, Episode: s03e01 We're Good People Now, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: The knock on the door of 303 was soft but Oliver’s head still shot up at the noise. Wiping away the tears on his cheeks, he was across the room in an instant and opened the door to find Connor there, hands buried in his pockets, eyes fixed on the floor. “I…ah–” Connor tugged a hand through his hair and avoided Oliver’s eyes. “I don’t know where to go.” + A Coliver 3x01 coda





	

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/150979813513/a-coliver-3x01-coda-the-knock-on-the-door-of-303)

The knock on the door of 303 was soft but Oliver’s head still shot up at the noise. Wiping away the tears on his cheeks, he was across the room in an instant and opened the door to find Connor there, hands buried in his pockets, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I…ah–” Connor tugged a hand through his hair and avoided Oliver’s eyes. “I don’t know where to go.”

Without a word, Oliver stepped back and held the door open, gesturing for Connor to come in.

Connor stepped inside with a mumbled, “Thanks,” but didn’t venture in further.

After Oliver closed the door, they stood there for a moment in the most awkward silence either of them had ever known.

“Sorry about this,” Connor started, rambling only a little. “I know I said before that I was going to go…going to give you…you space or whatever but–but as I was walking I realized that I wasn’t sure where to go.” Connor dared to look up at Oliver and wished he was anywhere but here. “Asher’s in a dorm. Wes is with Meggie. I didn’t want to bug Laurel or Mic and my apartment’s–”

“It’s fine,” Oliver said too quickly. “It’s…I’m gla–It’s fine.” Then it was Oliver’s turn to tug a hand through his hair. “You can stay here till…until we figure this out.”

“Thanks,” Connor muttered, eyes fixed again on his shoes, and the silence fell between them again. “So…should I sleep on the floor or–?”

“No. No, of course not. Uh–”Oliver cursed at himself. He needed to get it together. “The couch,” he offered and glanced at Connor. “Is that okay?”

Connor nodded quickly. “Yeah. Of course.” Then, feeling self-conscious. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Oliver told him, a self-deprecating bite in his tone.

Within minutes, they had Connor set up on the couch with sheets and pillows and blankets. Oliver was picking the throws pillows up off the floor and piling them up on a nearby chair when Connor interrupted.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Oliver glanced up to see Connor with a pile of clothes held in one fist.

“I was gonna shower,” Connor explained. “If you don’t need the–”

“No. No, it’s fine.” Oliver waved a hand toward the bathroom. “Take all the time you need.”

With a single nod, Connor turned on a heel and went into the bathroom.

Shutting the door firmly behind him, Connor set his clothes down on the toilet tank and flipped on the shower to let it heat up. Leaning heavily on the sink, he took three deep breaths and met his eyes in the mirror. They were red rimmed and exhausted.

“Get it together,” he whispered to himself and felt like an idiot.

The shower was warm and soothing and Connor stood under the spray for too long, letting the pulse of it beat the ache out of his shoulders. If only the water could do something about the ache in his heart.

Turning off the water, he reached for the towel hanging on the rod and paused. Could he still use that towel? It was the same one he’d used this morning but it was also the same one Oliver used. Connor had never thought twice before about them sharing a towel but would it be weird now? Was that still allowed? Should he get a new one? Would getting new linens make it all even weirder?

Then, after he figured out which towel to use to dry himself off, was he really going to put on pajamas? Connor’d never worn pajamas around Oliver before. Hell, Connor didn’t even own pajamas. In a panic before, he’d grabbed a long-sleeved thermal he used to go skiing and gym shorts but Connor didn’t think they were really allowed to see each other in their underwear anymore.

Fuck. Thirty-six hours ago, Connor’d had his dick in Oliver’s ass and now they weren’t allowed to see each other without goddamn layers on.

What the fuck was happening?

There, in Oliver’s shower, naked, cold, and wet, Connor felt himself beginning to shake. He felt his breath starting to come in short gasps. His heart beating too fast, too furious in his chest. He felt tears stinging his eyes. His throat feeling like it was going to close.

Fuck it all. He was going to have a panic attack. He was going to have a panic attack in his ex-boyfriend’s shower.

“Connor?” The rap of knuckles on the bathroom door was soft. “Con? You okay? The water stopped a while ago and–”

“I’m fine,” Connor choked out. If they weren’t allowed to see each other without clothes on, Connor was willing to lay money they shouldn’t see each other in vulnerable emotional states. He grabbed the towel off the rack, wrapped it around his waist, and took two deep breaths, trying to will the panic away. “I’m–It’s okay.”

Oliver’s answer of, “Okay,” was hesitant and Connor knew he was moments away from opening the bathroom door.

“I’m just getting out,” Connor called out, trying to inject some normalcy into his voice. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine, Ollie.”

The nickname slipped out without warning and Connor cursed as he dried himself off. Were nicknames not okay anymore either?

Outside, Oliver listened to the sounds of Connor getting dressed and ready for bed and stepped away from the bathroom door. It had been one thing to listen in when he’d been worried about the lack of noise coming out of the bathroom; it was another to listen in now, now that Connor’s assured him he’s fine. Listening now would just be eavesdropping and wrong.

Nervously, Oliver looked around the bedroom. He didn’t know what to do with himself at the moment. It felt strange to lay on the bed and mess with his phone while Connor was in the bathroom. It felt too much like he was waiting for Connor to join him but Connor wasn’t going to be joining him. Connor wasn’t going to be joining him ever again.

Shouldn’t he be giving Connor some privacy or something? But where could he go? The couch was all set up for Connor to sleep on – and if Oliver couldn’t even lay on his own bed while Connor was getting ready, he certainly couldn’t just sit on Connor’s – so watching TV or playing a game to kill time was out.

He didn’t really have anything to do in the kitchen, and just hanging out in that space without a purpose would be odd. Well, he could maybe start prepping things for breakfast tomorrow – but there wasn’t going to be breakfast tomorrow. Well, there would, of course, be breakfast tomorrow but it wouldn’t be their breakfast.

Other couples shared dinner together but, with Connor’s erratic work and school schedule, that hadn’t ever really worked out for them. So instead of dinner, they always shared breakfast, waking up a little early so they could linger over coffee and bacon, sharing stories about the day before and commiserating a bit about the day to come. It was, or rather it had been, one of Oliver’s favorite routines. Something that was uniquely theirs. Something neither of them had done with anyone else. Something Oliver couldn’t imagine ever doing with anyone else.

They had switched off cooking and cleaning duties, the way others rotated dinner chores, and tomorrow would have been Oliver’s turn. He’d bought Texas toast over the weekend with a thought to make French toast one morning this week but that wasn’t going to happen anymore. What was he going to do with a whole loaf of Texas toast in his freezer? What were they going to do for breakfast?

Oliver almost knocked on the bathroom door to ask Connor that very question when it hit him again. He couldn’t ask Connor that. He couldn’t ask Connor anything. They’d broken up. He’d broken them up. They weren’t together anymore. They weren’t a unit anymore.

Just then, the bathroom door opened. Connor stood there, in the doorway, and shot Oliver a puzzled look. Oliver figured the look was probably justified since he was just standing there, stock still, at the foot of the bed with his hands worrying together and his eyes on the bathroom door.

“You need something?” Connor asked.

“No. No, no.” Oliver was quick to shake his head. _I just realized that I broke up with you._ “Just…just thinking,” Oliver finished, lamely.

“Okay.” Connor’s brow was still furrowed but he didn’t press.

Giving Oliver a wide berth, Connor walked out of the bathroom and headed to the living room, stopping briefly by the closet to shove his dirty clothes in one of his drawers. He picked his phone up off the kitchen counter.

“I’ll be up around 6,” he told Oliver, as he set the alarm on his phone. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Whenever,” Oliver was quick to tell him. “Don’t worry about me.”

Connor tried to stifle a snort but it came out anyway. “I’ll call the girl subletting my place tomorrow. See when she can be out by. It…it might be a while. I’m supposed to give her 30 days–”

“That’s fine.” Oliver balled his hands into fists in his lounge pants. “As long as you want. It’s…there’s no rush.”

Connor doubted that but he nodded anyway. They were being so polite to each other tonight. Why did the layer of politeness make it more uncomfortable?

“Well…” he looked around the apartment before swinging his eyes briefly to Oliver’s. “I’m going to bed.”

It was only just ten but Oliver didn’t protest. The emotional exhaustion was hanging heavy in Connor’s eyes, Oliver imagined he didn’t look much better either. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds good.”

Without another word, they shut off the lights around 303 and went to bed. Oliver slipping under the sheets of what, less than twelve hours before, had been their bed. Connor burrowing under the spare sheets and blankets they had tucked around the couch.

Fully intending to spend the night awake and staring at the ceiling, Connor plumped up his pillows, pulled one of them out from behind his head so he could clutch it to his chest, and settled back to wait.

Listening as Connor’s breathing leveled out, as Connor fell asleep, Oliver turned to lay on his back. He watched the moonlight dance over the ceiling and listened to the man he loved breathe in and out, long and deep. Oliver listened to the man he loved slip into sleep.

When he was absolutely sure Connor slept, Oliver whispered into the dark, “I’m sorry.” He swallowed once before pressing on, knowing full well Connor would never hear the words. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted to do this.” He pulled back the beginnings of a sob. “But it’ll be better this way,” he said. “It’ll be better for you. You…you deserve better than me–” A sob slipped out and Oliver covered his mouth with a hand, holding back the worst of it. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes but Oliver didn’t wipe them away.

“I’m not good for you,” Oliver admitted to a sleeping Connor when he could trust his voice again. “I’m not good to you. You should be with someone better. Someone who doesn’t lie to you or hurt you or…You deserve someone who wouldn’t ever do that to you,” he told Connor, referencing the Stanford letter. “I still can’t believe I did that. I–” Another muffled sob. “I know you said you forgive me but I can’t and I just–” Oliver shook his head. He was getting hysterical. He needed to stop. He needed to stop this now. “I’m just so sorry, Connor. But now…now you can find someone better. Someone better for you than me.”

That last admission lingered for a moment, the words hanging there in the night, before they slipped away, unheard and unknown.

Oliver turned back onto his side and brushed fingertips over the cool sheets on what had been Connor’s side of the bed before closing his eyes and forcing himself to try and sleep.

Across the way, Connor stared, unblinking, at the ceiling. A spare pillow clutched hard to his chest and Oliver’s broken confession echoing in his head.

He listened to Oliver try and bite back another cry and thought that the poets had been right about one thing at least. The end did come not with a bang but with a whimper.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


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